First love, last love, next love, only love – or just another love along littered paths of push and shove love called ‘moving along’?
To: GENUINE her, REAL she I’ve yearned for, MEANT FOR ME
Seeking – especially seeking ‘new love’ – challenges everyone. Doing this in middle-age, we aren’t young, don’t feel old, though calendars reveal truth. We aren’t lonely, just alone. Aren’t desperate yet. Or are we? Want companionship – doesn’t everyone? But we want more. We’ve had it all – not ‘all at once’ but we’ve had it. Had it in youth, we mated and married, raised children and made lives. We’ve flourished. And floundered. We’ve failed. We’ve sailed along smoothly – we’ve done it all, had it all. Mostly in pieces. Some here, some there. So now, when time is not always on our side, do we have expectations of finding ‘it all’ in anyone? Unrealistic? Sure. Unlikely, untenable? Quest continues, no day on the calendar drives that point home like this one – Valentine’s Day, the day of sweethearts and sweet-talkin’.
I would choose this she, yes this one of my recent ankles-over-teakettle silliness and easy-fitting-feeling, what I need and wish for. Picnics in a park, kisses in the dark, healthy and fit – wise, interesting, but only half as compelling as those long talks. Oh yes, easy choice, if it was just up to me.
Like morning coffee – strong, and hot – to hold her every day, see her in every way, lock her gaze on this ‘future us/dream’ – ah yes, my dream woman.
If it was ‘just up to me’ …
P.S.: I’ve been pondering some old memories of youthful infatuation which, like fools gold, turns out not to be real. At this stage of life I’m happy to have the feelings again – without regard to how long they last. Might be a year, might be 55 (which would make me 120 and make her 113). I’m open to that whole range of possibility. Anyway, all this warm-fuzzy feeling reminded me of something – many years ago someone sent me a newspaper clipping – a special Valentine’s piece (author unknown) – that I’ve kept in my ‘treasure’ file ever since, so there is no better day than this to share it:
SHE LOVED HIM … once there was a little girl who had a crush on a little boy. He had blue eyes, brown hair and trouble pronouncing ‘th’. Never mind. She loved him. The little girl had an older sister who had gray eyes, honey-coloured hair and terrible penmanship. Never mind, he loved her. The older sister had an English teacher who had brown eyes, black hair and 38 years. Never mind, she loved him. On Valentine’s Day the little girl sent the little boy a card with a heart on it. Actually she sent a card to everyone in her class, but her fingers trembled only when they printed his name. The little boy, however, only sent one. To her older sister. The older sister sent only one, too. To her English teacher. He tossed it on a pile. Martha, then loved George who loved Anne who loved … ah, forget that English teacher. He probably had his own triangle to contend with. The point is: at an early age (no one of these protagonists was over 9), Martha, George and Anne learned that you can’t get love by giving it. If it hadn’t been for St. Valentine, they mightn’t have found that out for years. They went right on falling in love, though, and they went right on sending cards with hearts on them. Today they're adults, old enough to know that some recipients put their cards under their pillows and some just toss them on the pile. Never mind: they're also old enough to know that far worse than getting no valentines is having no one to give them to.
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